You and I through the Camera Eye
by pandasize
Summary: Garrus and Pandora Shepard are separated after the Reaper War. Their story as told through a series of memories each respectively has of one another. Both race against time, malnutrition, and life-threatening injuries in hopes that one day they will reunite.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect or make any profits from this fanfiction. This is also my first attempt at a mini multi-chap series in the ME universe. Endless thanks to my beautiful beta, theherocomplex._

* * *

The blue light of the empty aquarium falls over Garrus' face, giving him an almost serene appearance. He doesn't care much for the hazy lighting, but he rather enjoys the constant, low hum it emits. It's soothing to the lonely turian. Silence is death, and life after the Reaper War is much too quiet. There are no celebrations, no working comms, and most devastating of all, no Shepard.

He hasn't spent an entire night alone in the battery since the day she picked him up from Menae. He wasn't about to start now. No, that would mean accepting that she was gone…for good. _Have to keep things tidy, have to keep Boo fed_, he tells himself. _So she has something nice to come home to._

And as if on cue, the persistent squeaking begins.

"Yes, yes, I hear you…" Garrus grumbles and opens the drawer of hamster food beneath Shepard's desk. It's brimming with the tiny, brown balls to the point of ridiculousness.

Everyone is starving after the war. Rations are low and rebuilding is slow, but it was impossible to tell when looking at Boo. Fatter than ever, Garrus is sure Shepard's pet could pass as half-Volus.

He listlessly sprinkles a few pellets into Boo's cage and watches the space hamster cram his cheeks impossibly full.

_Do you even know she's gone?_ Garrus wants to ask the rodent. D_o you even care?_ He's almost jealous. Oblivious to heartache, oblivious to longing, how simple life must have been for Boo.

The hamster confirms this point when he devours the pellets and immediately cheeps for more. Garrus simply blinks at it with a mild disdain.

Every trip to the Citadel, he had asked Shepard why she insisted on purchasing more rations for the damn thing. It has enough, he would scold._ Look at the size of it. That can't be right. The height to volume ratio is all wrong. _Shepard however, would simply laugh, eyes crinkling with mirth around the edges. _Hamsters are __**supposed **__to look like that,_ she'd explain. A_nd with each battle harder than the next, I don't know when we'll get the chance to shop for supplies. I just want Boo to be set. That's all._

Back then, Garrus just resigned himself to being thankful that she also didn't keep fish. The shopping trips were long enough as they were. But nowadays? He'd give anything just for one last walk around the Citadel with her.

He shuts his eyes tightly and tries to recall the jeweled green hues that dazzle her eyes when she peers into the Presidium lakes. _Why are we looking for Krogan sushi when there's a war going on? _he asks her dryly. _Because this might help us later,_ she answers simply. Y_ou're free to go, Vakarian. Don't think I didn't see you ogle the Kishock Harpoon back there…_She runs a white-gloved hand over the charcoal fuzz on her head and flashes him an impish grin. His neck grows hot whenever she looks at him like that, and so he just shrugs and stretches his neck from side to side to feign boredom.

All these details he hopes never to forget as time and hunger chip away at lucidity. Yet Boo's insufferable squeaking capsizes his precious vessel of memories, drenching him in the cold reality of now. "You've had your daily quota!" Garrus whispers more harshly than he intends. The hamster continues its harangue, and the exhausted turian throws one last pellet as an unspoken compromise. _Just leave me to my thoughts,_ he wants to say. _It's the only way I can be with her._

Boo eyes the pellet for a moment before ignoring it completely. The incessant jabbering continues. At his wits end, Garrus throws the packet of food back into the bin and slams the drawer shut. "Spirits! I don't understand what you want!" The loud bang causes Boo to shrink in fear, scurrying back into his wooden box. Garus feels bad immediately.

The early stages of malnutrition shortens tempers. Dr. Chakwas had said.

Curse this forsaken island.

He settles down into Shepard's office chair and suddenly remembers.

_She's laying on her back, long legs stretched across the couch. A thin spindle of electrifying violet light flickers between her two palms. In the center of this radiance, Boo bounces, cocooned in a glowing orb. "Is that safe?" he asks her. "Using biotics on something so small?" Shepard gently hovers and spins her beloved hamster in a circular motion, mimicking the way Boo likes to run on his wheel. "Big or small, it doesn't matter if you have the right control…" And Boo makes a content little chirp that seems to agree. Shepard giggles softly to herself, and the unique sound captures Garrus. It is so different from her usual throaty laugh. This seems infinitely more private…more intimate. He wonders if he can elicit a similar sound from her one day. He must try._

The memory fades. Like everything else, the daydreams never last. He steals a sideways glance at Boo who is now peeking out of his hidey hole in trepidation. A pitiful peep expels from the tiny ball of fluff. "I can't do that for you, Boo." Garrus finds himself answering aloud. "Take a lap on the wheel." He must have 'fallen off the deep end,' as Shepard used to say. He's talking to an animal as though it could comprehend conversation.

Boo doesn't stop staring or shaking, and so Garrus eventually rises and reaches into the cage, careful with his talons. "Shhh…there now…" he soothes as Boo wriggles in his palms, nose twitching actively. "No biotics, but this is the best I've got." He tries to remember the way Shepard used to let the hamster run in her hands, alternating each hand to create a mock step ladder. The process proves almost therapeutic, as soon Garrus feels relaxed enough to just let Boo scurry up his arm and into his cowl.

_Hamsters like to burrow,_ Shepard once said. _Let's buy him this tube._

Garrus doesn't notice when the furry shuffling around his collar has stopped, or when it cozies up into a contented ball right beneath his mandible. He's too busy dreaming of her again.


	2. Chapter 2

_The last shot does some damage. Pandora Shepard knows because she sees stars and hears a child laugh. And both of these things do not exist on Rannoch._

_"You alright, Shepard?" Garrus' voice crackles through her intercom. He must have seen her stagger._

_"Yep. Just a scratch." The visions are getting worse if they're interrupting firefights, but between Tali's cursing and the incoming swarm of geth troopers, Shepard hasn't the time to analyze. _

_Gradually, the hallways stop tilting and the white spots disintegrate. She pulls and manages a headshot to the trooper at her 2 o'clock._

_"Impressive," Garrus rumbles into her earpiece. "Seven."_

_"What?"_

_"Seventh one you've taken down." he explains through the melee. "It helps if you count." It's his way of saying he notices. He's always been keen to pick up on her quirks and isms. She thought nothing of it until now. In the midst of battle, he's reading her like a book, and for once, Shepard isn't annoyed by Garrus' powers of observation. She's relieved._

_Counting. Right. Seems easy enough._

_Eight makes the mistake of firing when she reaches the top of the ladder. Nine gets a grenade to its optical receptor. And Shepard gets her second wind._

_"Still one ahead of you," Garrus notes between a double explosion. "Make that three. Better hurry."_

_A smile threatens the corner of her lips._

_Each bullet that makes its mark says, "It will be alright." And soon the world is nothing but the targets between her crosshairs, the humming of Garrus' voice, and the steady beating of her heart._

_Nine…ten…..eleven…._

* * *

"Clear!"

With a jolt, Pandora Shepard wakes with what feels like a nail through her forehead. Just outside her tent, the distant wailing of the sick blends into indiscernible medical chatter. It is the same everyday. Supplies run low, as the death toll mounts in the aftermath of war. The dilapidated refugee camp where she currently convalesces is no exception.

"She's breathing!" Her eyesight may have been shot to hell after activating the Crucible, but Shepard could recognize her doctor's anxious blathering anywhere. "I must remind you, Commander Shepard. You_ cannot_ walk. And the use of biotics could be _life-threatening. _Your body is irreversibly damaged. Until the comms—"

The burned scabs on her face stretch and tug uncomfortably, but she grins anyway. "I… walked…three steps today." Between the spine-numbing pain and shaking muscles, she made sure to count. "Three._ By myself._" She stirs additional defiance into the last few words as if to say, _Don't tell me I'll never walk again. And I'll be the universe's strongest one-armed biotic. They'll make inspirational vids synced to hanar poetry about my recovery, you fucker._

She doesn't really mean the last part. It's thought from sheer habit. The part of her personality —the "challenge accepted" part — is still alive and well, unlike the rest of her. But the doctor only makes an admonishing cluck. And a sharp prick in her arm drives the migraine away, and lures a heavy fog in its place. Time slows, and her bones grow too heavy for her frame.

Shepard closes her eyes, and sees clearly again.

* * *

_There is a beryl-eyed turian in her bed, scrutinizing her body with a precision that makes her hold her breath._

_"It's so….thin," Garrus marvels, ghosting a blunted talon along a vein on her wrist. "Your skin offers so little protection."_

_"You think I require protection, Vakarian?" she chuckles, ignoring the hungry eyes that rove over the jump of her throat. "Is that why you still have all your armor on?"_

_He looks down and seems genuinely surprised. "Oh….Huh… Hmm…was wondering why it was so damn warm in here." The pile of empty levo-dextro beer bottles on the floor may have helped too, but Shepard doesn't say a word. It was one hell of a party._

_"How does this—" The usually adroit talons struggle at the seals of his armor ineffectively. Garrus expels a huff of frustration that makes her giggle._

_"Hey, at least I never fell through a fish tank," he grumbles indignantly. And then more softly, "Still…a good story for the turian in-laws. "_

_"That's the second time you've mentioned that," she notes, placing a steady hand over his fumbling claw._

_The first time is atop the staircase during the party. He says it with such conviction that Shepard feels a small tear ripple through her heart. Between Reaper advising and worrying about his family's safety, he never stopped believing in their future. Together. The revelation hits her like a headbutt from a krogan. It has been a long time since anyone considered her future beyond the next assignment or mission. Half of her wants to laugh, but the other half is too busy quelling the waves of emotion that threaten to move her to tears._

_And now, behind the safety of closed doors and blacked-out guests, Garrus mentions it again. Turian in-laws. A small burst of hope ignites with trepidation in her stomach, as Shepard wonders whether she dare acknowledge daydreams and desires in times of war. She doesn't want to put all her credits on the wrong varren, so to speak._

_But Garrus presses his forehead against hers, and the warmth of his brow plates against her cool skin convinces her that it won't hurt to indulge. For just one night._

_"Turian in-laws…" she rolls the words around in her mouth. Slowly and thoughtfully, as if trying a new dish. Did she like it? Could she get used to it? The words are surprisingly soft and flexible on her tongue. They sink in naturally and warm her like a good bowl of soup._

_"You like the sound of that?" Garrus' voice buzzes around the edges with something she can't quite catch. And then she notices how very still he remains, focusing on her like a laser sight._

_"I think… I would…" she admits aloud, unable to stop a smile from spreading cheek to cheek. "I think I really would."_

_Garrus finally exhales._

* * *

"How long has she been asleep?" The hushed voices around her are suspended on strings. One wrong move, and they may snap and rain down upon her all at once.

"Three. Maybe four hours." The familiar stench of bleach and dust confirms she's still bedridden. Still in the refugee camp. Still without Garrus. "She's the savior of the galaxy. We can't just stand by and let her—"

"And what would you have us do? Fuel is low, which means medical supplies are low. We're racing against time. If they don't fix that relay soon —- _Shhh!_ I think she's awake." Her doctor is ever attentive. "Commander Shepard? Commander Shepard?"

But she can't bring herself to respond. The sides of her face are damp, and if she opens her eyes, there will only be vague shapes and frustrating blurs. None of which she can grasp and mold into Garrus' face. She knows because she's tried.

Shepard keeps her eyes shut instead, wondering if it is death or distance that separates her and her turian. _Her future._ The question stings greater than any wound, and there is no medicine for it.

No one has yet to find any information about the _Normandy's_ whereabouts. And so she knows she must wait, and try to ignore the tear that rips further and wider through her heart with each passing day. She tries not to picture Garrus waiting by the bar for her. Alone. Because if she gives too much heed to either of these things, she fears may lose her mind. And at this point, that is all she has left.

"Nevermind," the doctor resumes his whispering after a while. "I think she's just having a nightmare."

_Yes._ Shepard silently agrees, as the throbbing returns to her head and a burning rips through her bones. _This is a_ _nightmare._


End file.
